He pushed past her into the apartment. “You’re the hotshot investigator. You tell me!”

Instead of calling him on his bullshit, she slammed the door and came after him, her mouth set in hard lines. “Who did this to you?”

She had vengeance written all over her. As if she personally intended to go after the perpetrator. Which, he realized, she did.

He headed for the refrigerator, her fierceness beginning to settle him down. “A thug ambushed me as I was coming out of my garage.” He grabbed a dish towel and some ice.

It didn’t seem to occur to her to play Nurse Nancy, unlike the time she’d shoved him down in the alley. She snatched up a notepad. “Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I got mugged, that’s what.” He pressed the ice pack to his face.

“Tell me what the guy looked like.”

“Big. That’s all I know. It was dark.”

“What was he wearing?”

“A Brooks Brothers suit! How the hell do I know? I told you, it was dark.”

“What about security cameras? Lights?”

He shook his head, then wished he hadn’t. “They’d burned out.”

“How convenient.”

She made him start at the beginning and go over it, detail by detail. There wasn’t much to tell, and he regretted coming here. Wasn’t sure why he had.

She looked up from her notepad. “You said he yelled something as he was running away. What was it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Think.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know. Some kind of threat. ‘I’ll get you.’ Something like that.”

“‘I’ll get you.’ That’s what he said?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what it was.” He shifted the ice pack.

“That doesn’t sound like your garden-variety mugger. And why didn’t he have a gun? They’re as easy to come by as candy bars in this town and more convenient than a tire iron.”

“You’ve seen too many TV shows.”

She persisted. “If he’d been after your wallet, he would have had a gun. It’s like he was after you personally. But why?”

He glared at her jersey. “Because he’s a Bears fan.”

“Not funny.” She stabbed her pen in the air. “You need to get to the ER.”

“A bruised jaw. Some sore ribs. I’ll take care of it. And before you say anything, I’m not reporting this to the cops.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue. Maybe she understood that if he reported this, the story would hit national news, the press would be all over him, and without surveillance video, the police wouldn’t be able to do squat. All he’d end up with was publicity he didn’t want.